


Impression of a Woman, The

by NGenius87



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:13:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NGenius87/pseuds/NGenius87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So . . . even Mr Sherlock Holmes is not deaf to the siren's call." Takes place during The Sign of Three. Not sure how long it's going to be, but it will get mature/explicit (you know, pon farr stuff) - I welcome all brit-picking. Holy cheese on crackers, I updated it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It was the little things about her that he filed away. When he met her, her outspokenness had only confirmed what he’d already deduced. Bridesmaid – wedding – the sudden sight of impending loneliness as your friends move on, settle down, get married and one’s still single, struggling to find the right one for them. She’d been looking for a partner – at least for the night, if not for longer, and through reverse psychology, Sherlock knew she’d offered herself to him outright. That had taken him aback, a brief thought still passing through his head, but women were fickle and vain things and it was a rarity indeed that Sherlock met a woman he actually cared for and respected.

The only three current ones in his life being Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson, and most recently, he’d rather grown fond of Ms Mary Morstan soon-to-be Watson. The Woman was currently absent from this list as she only ever briefly surfaced in his mind palace during contemplations requiring his utmost concentration – indubitably, a seductive distraction to keep him from thinking about the case at hand, much the same as her physical counterpart. She was there again, distracting him from deciding whether or not this bridesmaid was someone worthy of his time. Throughout the meet-and-greet, she had him rather delegated to the role of gay best man – asking him whether this guy or that could be trusted, using his superior intellect to help her pick up someone who would treat her right. But none of them could. The evidence was there: this one had cheated on his current girlfriend, that one had hygiene problems; but even so, he was dismissing them left and right. What was he doing? Why not just hide a few of the less desirable traits and send her into someone else’s arms for the remainder of the evening?

During the speech, Sherlock had ultimately let slip a derogatory comment about the “plainness” of Mary’s bridesmaids, and while the two seated by Mary herself had looked despondent at the news, Janine had handled his bluntness with a calm grace – as if she understood what he meant instead of only what he said. It was then he knew an apology was in order. In truth, she was quite beautiful and so when he referenced his shortcomings, he tilted his head to her slightly, hoping she would forgive him. He’d made it through the rest of the speech solving not one case, but three. At the end of it, John had yet again saved a life.

It only took a few minutes in his mind palace to figure out the culprit – rewinding the day’s events and piecing together who had excluded themselves – but then again, there was one person always excluded, a mere phantom, a ghost – his culprit. The music coming in from the next room provided a backdrop tempo and he took her for a quick turn about the room. He had confided in her his love for dancing, shown off a move even – and she had expressed still her interest in him – if he weren’t . . . himself, his brain supplied. But when it came to that sort of experience, who was he? He’d never met someone interested in him, who stuck by him, piqued his own interest. There was Molly, of course; there had always been Molly, but she knew him, knew how he was; his honesty always seemed to hurt her feelings. He couldn’t entertain the notion of a relationship where the very way he thought and spoke caused his partner grief – Molly was special to him in his own way, and she deserved better. They had only spent a few minutes alone in the room before Lestrade had shown up with the man.

It was even at this point in the night that she had stayed by him, watching as he explained how he deduced the photographer was both the almost-murderer of two men, not to mention the very same “Mayfly Man” he’d been searching for. He actually thought the man a worthy opponent with a keen mind – his morals however were far less laudable. He supposed it must have been the hour that caused her to comment on his frequency of carrying handcuffs. And there was no point in telling himself that _he_ didn’t find that comment somewhat racy and therefore replied with a gentle admonition – reflecting on that, perhaps he was enjoying her company, the playful banter they shared – she intrigued him. It didn’t feel as though his walls were crumbling down, but more as if she simply was an expert at scaling them.  
  
Her cheer for him after he’d lowered his bow and violin from playing position had been the loudest – and honestly, his chest swelled with pride a little at that. He made another small speech, let his honesty and bluntness slip again, tried correcting it. But John and Mary managed to pull the truth from him. Sherlock knew that despite their reassurance he was going to be included still in their lives, the baby would change things. There were far too many criminals who weren’t above taking a life or hurting John to get to him, so that meant Sherlock had to be the one to gracefully bow out – he had made his vow, John and Mary would be safe, they had to be. Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, they had known all along that without John, Sherlock was lonely. He had even tried to bring along Molly as a replacement, but no, she wasn’t lonely anymore; she wouldn’t put up with his airs simply because there was no one else with whom she could spend her time. John had moved on, too, in his absence. Everyone moved on from him. He felt that sense of utter loneliness creep into his heart.


	2. Chapter 1

He now understood what Janine had felt upon being invited – how marriages tend to make you think about your own life and those you have in it – those constants. Perhaps he did need a constant. The music was playing on the speakers and he looked over to where she was dancing with someone – the same one who had arrived with exactly the kind of woman he despised. He wouldn’t fault them for being together, and he allowed his glance to last until their eyes met. She smiled and he would have left it at that, but she seemed all too eager to come rushing over to him. And that was when he felt it, that surge of, dare he say, happiness - someone chose HIS company over another’s. It felt like he’d run a mile by the time she had made her way through the crowd to stand in front of him, her eyes meeting his every so often while she politely excused herself. Her elegance was breathtaking, yet underneath that, he knew her to be quite the physical being – much like the Woman behind closed doors, however Janine knew when to be modest, a trait the Woman had lacked.

“Well, come on, you owe me a dance.” Sherlock allowed her to lead him towards a more sparsely populated section of the dance floor. The raucous tune playing wasn’t the sort of dancing he had practised, but it seemed that the moment she turned to him, the music started on a ballad. Sherlock noticed that she’d been about to start dancing quite differently, but the switch of songs caused her to lower her arms awkwardly. He grabbed her hand and pulled her in by her waist; her free hand rested on his shoulder and he took the lead. There had only been a few times he had ever danced with a partner, tutoring John and Janine included. The dynamic of the situation now was changing things. With Janine in his arms and the way she would look up at him when her head wasn’t resting gently on his shoulder, he no longer felt like an instructor, but a man. He was acutely aware of the electricity being shared between them. It was new, unsettling, exciting. “I must say you’re the most respectable man I’ve had the pleasure of dancing with. You haven’t slipped your hand down to my arse once.”

He couldn’t help being bemused by her. “I’m sure if I had, you wouldn’t have complained. You’ve been on the prowl all day. Don’t forget, I helped.”

“You helped?” Her tone was slightly incredulous and he looked at her curiously. “You disapproved of every man I was interested in – save one.”

“The sci-fi enthusiast? I thought you and he seemed to get along quite well just a few minutes ago.”

“Well, he’s perfect; it’s just that we have nothing in common. I meant someone else. Someone whom – despite his many faults – you spoke rather highly of.”

“You’re a bridesmaid at his wedding – don’t you think that’s a bit late to show an—”

“You.”

“—interest . . . in the groom?” He broke off once more, his mind slowly coming to a halt. It seemed his feet were as well, because he noticed they had stopped dancing. If he were lesser of a man, he would have asked her to join him in a cab, taken her to his place – they would have started things in the backseat long before the car had reached Baker Street. But the song wasn’t over, so he resumed their dance, keen to put the awkwardness of the moment behind him. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been dancing, but he did notice as a few of the guests gave their fond farewells to the happy couple and left the reception area. “Well, this man you’re still oddly interested in . . . has many faults.”

“Well, Mary filled me in on most of them before the wedding.”

“Did she? Clever woman.”

“She is. John’s a lucky man.”

“He is.”

Janine only nodded her assent this time, continuing their previous conversation. “And this man – the one who has all these faults – he should realise . . . I’m still here.”

“Oh, he realises that; he’s just not sure why that is. Well, he has a theory that involves any room with a bed; however . . . he’s wondering if perhaps there are other reasons.”

“Well, there is one other reason.”

“Do enlighten me.”

“Despite showing all the emotional range of a machine, I’m sure that inside that cold, calculating exterior is a man who’s trying to hide how lonely he’s really felt his whole life. Not that he ever really had much of a choice in the loneliness, being who he is, someone with an incredible gift.”

Sherlock had inwardly stiffened slightly at the beginning of her enlightenment. He’d been called a machine several times throughout his life. But she saw further into him and he wasn’t quite sure why he found that so . . . fascinating. “So why the first reason at all?”

“It’s called a segue, genius.”

“A way to get me vulnerable, if you will?”

“Depends if you’re capable of actually being vulnerable.”

“But you’d like to find out?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

Sherlock was never fond of couples who displayed affectation for each other in public areas, but then again, they were in a hotel and both of them had rooms reserved for them. Hers was on a lower storey. “I think we should make straight away for your room.”

“Follow me, then.”

After they untangled themselves from their dancing positions, she slipped the crook of one of her fingers into the waistband of his slacks and pulled him after her. He could see the lust in her eyes and though that feeling was coursing through his own body as well, he still chided her for it. “Mind your hands, woman.”

“What for? They’ll be there and other places soon enough.”

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat for a moment. He tilted his head and let it out in a silent whistle. “Are you always so forward?”

“Mostly, not that anyone’s complained.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining.”


End file.
